Chapter 21: Late night tea

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The nights just before the expeditions are always the worst. And I mean always. People either sleep horribly or some don't at all. I'm the latter. Ever since the very first expedition, it has been like this for me. There's always this nerve, and whenever I try to sleep – actually manage to fall asleep – there are these nightmares. Mostly horrible sights what I've witnessed in my time here; greenery covered in blood, limbs and weapons and whatever else scattered around the field, but instead of old comrades, I know that are dead, I see people I care for who're alive. Or times and times again, instead of these kinds of nightmares, I've seen memories. Memories of childhood, there are always the dark streets, my father and his fists, MPs, and anyone who has ever laid their hands on me.

So, as a distraction from all of that, I sit in my room, curled up against the headboard of my bed, book in lap, and a tea cup in hand, I just read. Let myself get lost in the adventures of another awesome main character.

Despite distracting myself, I know, in my consciousness, that the expedition, we know near nothing about, is happening tomorrow and ain't no way in the Walls, that all of us make it back. I don't even want to think about the recruits. They're just out of training, barely teenagers. More like kids. I honestly don't care enough about any of them to cry, but I care enough to be sad that a patch of teenagers – kids – might die. And just because Erwin's in a hurry to get them on the field. For some, who knows what, reason.

The only good thing about pre-expedition nights is that we get to eat meat. It's nice to have something besides dry bread and borage all the time. The meal today, in particular, was an interesting one.

A girl from 104th. Sasha, the same one who I saw yesterday at the castle doors. The one who informed me and Levi that Erwin wanted to see us. She has a thing for meat or well food in general. She tried to steal everyone's food and went around asking if they're finishing their food. She's an interesting and kind of funny one, she and Connie – they stick together like siblings. I have been seeing Jean with them a lot as well. I guess they're formed their own little group.

My door opens with a small creak, snapping me from my concentrated reading. As I glance up, Petra stands at my door.

"Ever heard of knocking?" I ask and close the book on my lap.

"Sorry. I just couldn't get any sleep, and I know you don't sleep before expeditions. . .so I thought that maybe I could come here," Petra says. I sigh through my nose, shift so my back rests against the wall beside my bed and pat the space beside me. Petra smiles lightly and comes over to sit on the bed. She pulls her legs to her chest, wraps her arms around them, and stares at the far wall of my room.

"The same as always?" I ask a tad softly. Petra nods and hides her face from sight by putting her forehead against her knees and pulling her legs even closer to herself.

"Petra, you need to stop worrying about this squad. We're the Special Ops for a reason. And I think if any of us fuck up. . .Captain would save us," I tell her softly. "Besides I'm the clear evidence of that! That one time I was drunk on the field, he did save me, multiple times." Petra chuckles at that and raises her head. Her eyes a bit watery, but no tears are spilled yet.

"I know," she says quietly, "But I can't help to be worried. We never know what may happen." She does have a point there. Part of the reason I never make promises of coming back to anyone before expeditions. I may be strong, but you can never truly know what happens before it does.

"Let's hope all goes well, right? I mean think positive and all will be positive," I reply and rub her back a gently.

"I really hope so." Her voice being a mere whisper, but I make it out just enough. I know Petra has always been more emotional than the rest of the squad and she always tries not to show that she's that emotional about stuff, but. . .I think that her emotions and being able to show them is a strength. Strength I, myself, lack.

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